


Long Thoughts

by flinchflower



Series: Flashback [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consequences, Discipline, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:36:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4018264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt #5, Sir (present day).  Dean pays the piper – er – John, for his reckless actions on a hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Thoughts

Six weeks after the opening of the hell’s gate, Sam’s built a network of hunters online, and John’s starting to train himself, lightly, back into fighting shape. The older man is pretty sure that the cops all over the country are wondering about the rash of laptop thefts, but hey. He’s pleased with what the boy and Ellen are telling him, that they are not fighting this war alone. Somehow it takes some of the horrible pressure off, that this isn’t just the Winchester’s fight, isn’t just a personal vendetta. It had looked like it might be, but then Sam started getting reports of other psychic children flooding in, all of their lives twisted by the yellow-eyed demon, may it’s soul be chained to the lowest depths and never crawl upwards. Other lives than the Winchesters were involved for the first time. And then hunters were pooling to take the jobs, all over the country, and they weren’t running.

Dean’s still running, though, trying to bounce from job to job like a demented ping-pong ball, and in a way, John understands. Dean doesn’t dare delve into the research on how to save himself, that the rest of them were involved in part of the time, needs to be kept busy. Doesn’t like to research at all, not when it’s demons they’re after, there’s too much tempation to look for his own, and John understands that as well. But the boy’s gone out on a few solo hunts, after Sam was injured, and today John got a phone call he didn’t much like.

Reckless, the other hunter had said. Young badass trying to make a name for himself, and he’d thought better of the Winchesters, thought maybe he might give John a call, since the man was a daddy himself. Foster had told John that he’d sent Dean back their way with some research the man thought they needed, said frankly that he’d lied to the kid about the hunt, it wasn’t done by any means, but it needed subtlety, not the cocky balls out attitude that Dean was apparently sporting. The call had ended with John listening to the older hunter telling him how much he’d have liked to have him there, it was their kind of hunt, the two of them, and he hoped they’d get the chance when John was up and running again.

And so John’s out in Bobby’s yard, walking four laps, and slowly jogging one, doing some easy pull-ups on the bar Bobby has in place, because from the call Dean put in earlier, he should be rolling the Impala in soon. He’s about halfway through what he’s planned for himself today when he hears the sound of her engine, and he times his run to hit the driveway as Dean’s easing on out of the car. The kid looks stiff, which matches with what Foster Swift had told him – Dean had taken a horrible risk, had quite a fall, but hadn’t been injured in any way. John hoped not. If he found so much as a scratch on the boy…

The boy stops in his tracks. “Dad… Should you be running?”

“Yes, I should be running. Have to get back in shape, kid, skills stay sharp with training and execution,” he says, and gets a cocky grin from Dean. “Come on inside, I want a word with you, son,” he says, trying not to make it sound like the death knell that it really is.

“Sure, Dad. Where’s Sammy? I brought him some research, from Foster.”

“He and Ellen are in town on a supply run, and Bobby’s out picking up an old Ford that I’m gonna help him restore.” Just as he asked them to. This is a conversation no one else is gonna overhear. 

“Sit down, son.” Now Dean looks wary, but obeys. “Foster and I had a long talk this morning, and I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

“Dude, the man is a stick in the mud-“

“Pardon me?”

“Man, he held me up, Dad, you know-“

“I do know. I’ve hunted with him before. Man’s good.” He doesn’t miss the shocked look on Dean’s face, knows the kid hasn’t missed the implication. “Since when do you bull-ass into a hunt, rush a spirit and leave a man without cover?” He’s got him now. Dean’s flushed and not meeting his eyes. “You’ve been running hot and reckless since the Devil’s Gate, and it stops now.” He rolls up his sleeves, and Dean shrinks back in his chair slightly. “I see you have some common sense left, at least, or some instinct that’s telling you just how deep the water is that you’re failing to tread.”

“Dad, I-“

He still doesn’t like the tone and demeanor he’s getting from his son, and he straightens in his own chair, eyes snapping at his son, feeling the drill sergeant in him rise up to the occasion. “On your feet!” he roars, and Dean scrambles awkwardly up. “What kind of bullshit are you pulling, boy? Reckless is gonna get you killed, and THEN where will we all be? There somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me, Dean?”

“Nosir, I-“

“So NOW you can remember some respect? Boy, I cannot even begin to tell you how upset I am with you that you couldn’t be bothered to wave some of that Foster’s way, and how angry I am with you for blowing all those years of protocol, and training, and my damn care out of the water like it means nothing to you! I shoulda taken Bobby, Ellen, and Jim up on their offers, that’s what I should have done, I must have lost brain cells to let it get to this point with you.” John puts the anger on a slow burn. He’s got Dean’s attention now, and he takes the time to breathe, watch his blood pressure. Maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t finish his exercise this morning, because he’s gonna get it now. Is getting it now.

“What, what offers,” Dean falters.

“They’re family, son, what do you think they offered, seeing you throw your life into a demon’s hands? They offered to take up the slack that I couldn’t, laid up like that, and I turned them down, because normally I think that kind of discipline belongs between a father and a son, Dean.” 

The words fall into Dean’s silence, and he slumps.

“Stand up straight, like I raised you! I made a mistake, Dean, those folks are family, and you might be better off if I had let one, or all of them take you in hand. I’m sorry I failed you there - silence,” he hisses as Dean tries to respond. “I’m gonna think on it, and you might want to watch your step, because you’re gonna have a new set of instructions pinned to the back of your shirt, where those three people are concerned – discipline first, ask questions later.”

“Dad, what the fuck-“

“DEAN MICHAEL WINCHESTER.” The full name, the deadly quiet voice, it does the trick. “Tell me what I’m about to punish you for, little boy.”

There’s silence, and Dean represses a shudder. John lets him think, lets the message sink in. This isn’t a long father to son conversation. It’s short, sweet, and to the point, and that works best with this son. And he wants this one to stick with the boy.

“For recklessly endangering my life,” the young man says quietly.

“That’s right,” John says, just as quietly, and sits back down, motions for Dean to come closer. He’s calming himself as he unbuttons the boy’s jeans, because this spanking is gonna be a long haul. Carefully he settles the boy over his lap, and he can see the hair on the back of Dean’s neck standing up. He slides the boy’s underwear down, and as an afterthought, slides the jeans all the way off as well.

“Dad…”

“You’re not gonna need ‘em, after.” And with that quiet statement, he brings the first powerful swat down on Dean’s backside, watching his son flinch. He doesn’t lecture as he spanks, for once, that’s out of the way before the spanking began. Dean’s backside slowly flushes under John’s ministrations, from pale white to pink, to red, and finally to a brilliant crimson, lightly stippled with darker spots. He’s not going to sit comfortably for a few days, John doesn’t intend that he should, and he finally hears a strangled sob from his son. He swats a few more times, catching the sensitive crease between buttocks and thighs, and then the sobbing isn’t so inhibited. He pauses, just to let the boy cry quietly, take in the situation fully in a moment where there isn’t the pain of the shockingly smarting swats. “Let’s finish up here,” he says quietly, and begins spanking again, slaps meant to sting, to wake the full potential of smarting possible on the boy’s backside, all twenty-eight of them. 

He lets Dean hang limp over his lap, breathing slowly himself, calming his heart rate down. That’s more exercise than he remembered, but it’s ok, he hasn’t pushed. Then he replaces the boxers, helps his son to his feet, thinking to himself that the boy looks all of sixteen again, tall and tired, too thin, standing there with his tear streaked regret, and fear of what the future holds for his family. John hadn’t forgotten spanking the boy when he’d taken off on his own, after the demon, right after John sat him down and explained what he thought was behind Mary’s death for the first time all those years ago. He’d thought the boy was mature enough to cope with the information, and it had been one of the few times he’d misjudged his son. Like now.

Pulling Dean in close, he murmurs softly to his boy. “You’re everything to me, boy, you and Sam. You put that at risk, you’re gonna feel the consequences, understand?”

“Yessir. Dad, I’m-“

“Hush, now. I think I understand, and it’s not an excuse. Think things through in the future, and I’ll be satisfied.”

“You, you aren’t really gonna let Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bobby spank me, are you?”

John chuckles, leading his son upstairs to put him to bed for the rest of the day. Hopefully the kid will rest. “I might at that, and don’t think that Pastor Jim won’t take you in hand, either. All of them are itching to, so mind your manners.”

“Yessir,” he says, and just like when he was a boy, Dean’s eyes are drooping as he lays down obediently. John sits by the bed for a long time, watching his eldest son, and thinking long thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> Music: Brandi Carlisle - The Story


End file.
